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“She’s fine. I dosed her until she was all cleaned out, then—”
Lady Wendy held up a hand. “That’s enough detail for me, Mr. McCauley.”
Hank chuckled, his anger gone as quickly as it began. The light turned green and he turned right. “The hotel’s just a few blocks from here. Do you want me to pull into valet parking?”
“No, we’ve made arrangements for Prince Alexi to enter through the service entrance.”
“But I’m not Prince Alexi yet.”
“Yes, but you look enough like him that people may recognize you.”
“They might also recognize me from my bronc-riding days.”
“Really? Are you somewhat of a celebrity, then?”
Hank chuckled again. “Just if you follow rodeo, Princess.”
“Please, stop calling me those ridiculous names. As I explained, I’m not royalty.”
“Yeah, but you sure are cute when you’re riled,” he said with a grin.
“I assure you, Mr. McCauley, I’ve never been called ‘cute’ in my entire life.”
As he stopped at the light to go around the block, he looked again at Wendy. She had a real aristocratic face, kind of narrow with what might be called sharp features. Her biggest assets, in his practiced opinion, were her eyes. He imagined they could get real warm and pretty, with the topaz color and golden highlights. But she didn’t use them to flirt. As a matter of fact, she didn’t play up any of her features, even that pale, pretty English complexion.
“I think you might be real cute if you’d smile more often.”
“I smile.”
“Naw, I’m not talkin’ about one of those stingy little polite smiles. I’m talkin’ about a big old, happy-to-be-alive kind of smile.”
He suspected she was blushing, because she looked down at her hands and fiddled with the buttons on her too-heavy suit jacket. “I don’t think we should be discussing my smile.”
“Why?” He snapped his fingers, getting her attention. “Oh, I get it. You’ve got that British problem I heard about. I’m sure sorry, Lady Wendy.”
“What British problem?” she asked, obviously irritated at his teasing.
“I’m sure sorry I didn’t notice it earlier,” he whispered, then paused dramatically. “Bad teeth.”
He heard her cry of indignation as he pulled to a stop in front of the hotel. “I most assuredly do not have bad teeth!”
“Really? Let me see.” He leaned toward her.
“Mr. McCauley! Please, I’m not one of your horses!”
“Come on, now, Lady Wendy. Just open up a little and let me see.”
“You are incorrigible.”
She sounded offended, but he detected a hint of amusement under her starchy facade. “I know I am. It’s part of my charm.”
She tried harder not to smile.
Hank grinned. “You know you want to show me your pearly whites.”
“I’ll have you know my mum and dad spent a fair amount on my teeth.”
“Yeah? Mine, too. I was always busting out a tooth or chipping one when I got thrown.”
“I’ve never had a chipped tooth.”
“Really? They can be pretty sexy.”
She sucked in a breath, her topaz eyes suddenly warm. As a matter of fact, the whole inside of the truck seemed to have warmed up considerably. “How?”
He leaned a bit closer. “’Cause you can run your tongue over that little ol’ chip.”
“Why would that be sexy?” she whispered.
“Maybe I wasn’t makin’ myself clear. I meant if you were kissing me, you could run your tongue over that chip. Of course, you’d have to search really long and hard, ’cause it’s been fixed for years.”
“I see,” she said, staring at his mouth.
He couldn’t stand it a moment longer. He stretched his arm across the space dividing them, held the back of her head in one hand and kissed her while her lips were parted in surprise. He didn’t intend to take advantage of her shock, but her mouth was as sweet as Texas in springtime, and her lips were as soft as blue-bonnet petals. His tongue touched hers, then retreated to trace the shape of her teeth—teeth he’d already noted were pearly white and straight as could be. When she moaned, he cupped her cheek with his other hand and deepened the kiss.
Behind them, a car horn honked. Shaking, she pulled away.
“I think you’re right,” he said, struggling to keep his voice light. “There doesn’t seem to be anything at all wrong with your mouth.” Or her almost innocent, tentative kiss.
“I’m certainly glad to hear that,” she said, her voice thin and shaky. “Perhaps we should just forget this ever happened, Mr. McCauley.”
“I think you should call me Hank,” he said as he pulled his hand—and her barrette—away from her hair. He used his fingers to pull the silky length over her shoulders. “There.”
“What are you doing?”
“Nobody in his right might would believe that Hank McCauley would check into a hotel with a woman who has her hair all scraped back like yours was. Now you look more…presentable.”
“There was nothing wrong with how I looked before!”
“Not for everyday stuff, but checking into a hotel with a man? Naw, you just didn’t look right for that.”
“Mr. McCauley, we are supposed to be at the service entrance so Prince Alexi can go immediately to his room via the back elevator.” Her voice rose and got a little bit higher with each word. She gazed outside, panic setting in at the crowded hotel entrance.
“But I’m Hank McCauley, rodeo star, not Prince Alexi, major pain in the—never mind. Point is, no one’s going to believe I’m the prince yet.” He put the truck into gear and edged toward valet parking. “Besides, how are we gonna explain my truck around back? Your driver probably has his hands full getting that valet guy settled inside.” He pulled out his wallet, spotting a five he could give as a tip. “I’m going to have these nice young men park the dually someplace where I can get to it.”
“Are you planning on going somewhere?” she asked, trying to finger-comb her hair.
He reached over and ruffled the glossy reddish-brown strands again. “After that kiss? I don’t think so,” he said, grinning at her flushed, confused expression.
He didn’t intend to kiss her again, but she didn’t know that. He kind of liked the idea that she was just as out of kilter as he was. He knew he was her means to an end, but that didn’t mean everything had to be all serious and secretive. After all, light, fun relationships with women were the only ones he’d allowed himself in six long years.
Lady Wendy didn’t need to know that either.
BEFORE GWENDOLYN COULD come up with any more coherent arguments for using the service entrance, Hank McCauley had placed a cowboy hat on his head, jumped down, grinned at the parking attendant and walked around the truck toward her. Good heavens! What was the man thinking? They couldn’t just march in the front door and—
“Get your pretty little self on down here, darlin’,” he ordered with a smile. As soon as she unfastened the seat belt, he grabbed her around the waist and swung her to the pavement. Before she got her balance, he’d retrieved his carryall and grasped her arm. “I just can’t wait to get checked in to our room.”
“Really!”
“Yeah, really,” he said with a wink, making the two closest luggage handlers grin widely.
“Nice to see you again, Mr. McCauley,” one of them called out.
“Good to be here, Ramon.”
She looked around, half expecting to see a dozen paparazzi ready to snap their photo. The headlines tomorrow would read “Prince Seduces PR Lady at San Antonio Hotel.” King Wilheim would have a coronary. But no one was there except bellhops and other people checking into or out of the hotel. As a matter of fact, no one paid them much attention except the parking attendants.
“They know you at this hotel?” Gwendolyn whispered as they swooshed through the revolving door. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“You didn’t ask,” the irritating man replied.
She wanted to stamp her foot, frown and fume, but they were traveling through a spacious lobby toward the check-in desk. “How am I going to explain your presence here?” she asked, hoping the multitude of large plants and columns hid their arrival from most of the people inside the hotel.
“Just go on and check in. I’m going to make a little detour to the gift shop,” he said, nodding toward the glassed-in store just off the lobby. “Come get me when you’re finished, darlin’,” he said before sauntering off in that rolling gait, his hips and long legs moving easily beneath the worn denim.
“Can I help you?” someone on the other side of the desk asked. Gwendolyn blushed, ashamed she’d been caught staring at that exasperating cowboy’s…departure.
“Yes,” she said crisply, pushing her hair behind her ears and squaring her shoulders. “I’m Lady Gwendolyn Reed, checking in Prince Alexi’s party.”
A few minutes later, she found Hank McCauley paying for a large bag of merchandise at the gift shop register. She wondered if he’d charged it to the room or paid cash or used his own personal credit card. Apparently he wasn’t as broke as she’d assumed earlier if he could afford to stay at this hotel on a regular basis.
She waited for him beside the door, unwilling to endure more “darlin”’ taunts. As if someone would really believe they were a couple!
He gave her a heart-stopping grin. “Ready to go upstairs?”
“Ready to get started with your training?”
He chuckled. “You’re tough, you know that?”
“One of us has to be focused on our goal, and since that is my job, I’m the one who must insist on staying with our plan.” And staying away from any heart-stopping kisses, pats on her “cute little butt,” or any further manhandling by this blatantly sexist cowboy.
He was nothing like any Englishman she’d ever known…except in one regard. He obviously thought women should be decorative in and out of the bedroom, and quiet otherwise. His attitude bordered on that of a feudal lord who had his pick of willing wenches. Very soon, Mr. Hank McCauley was going to learn that Lady Gwendolyn Reed was no man’s willing wench.
“I still think you haven’t thought this through,” he said, breaking into her private thoughts. It took her a moment before she realized he meant the substitute prince plan.
“I have very little choice,” she said, stopping at the glass-and-brass lift beside an indoor waterway and focusing on her job, not her personal feelings. The water was quite pleasant, but she took little solace in the gurgling sounds. Every minute that passed left her closer to tomorrow’s public engagements. She couldn’t afford a hint of scandal to reach the ears—or the cameras—of the European paparazzi. Much less reach inside the palace in Belegovia.
Hank McCauley made a halfhearted attempt to hide a yawn. She supposed he really was tired after staying up all night with the horse. Perhaps she could give him an hour or so for a nap while she arranged her materials. They needed a place setting for a five-course dinner, a sampler of appetizers and a selection of wines. And Milos needed to start measurements in case alterations were necessary to the two suits Hank—as Prince Alexi—would wear tomorrow. Hopefully they wouldn’t need to purchase shoes. She doubted San Antonio stores carried the Italian style Alexi preferred.
“If you would like, you may take a nap while I gather what I’ll need to continue our training.”
The lift doors opened and a family of five exited. She and McCauley entered, only to be followed by an older couple who smiled and nodded. Her substitute prince tipped his hat, just like the hero in a Western movie.
“Whatever works best for you, darlin’, he drawled, “but you’re always welcome to join me for my nap.”
The older couple smiled at the cowboy as if he’d made a profound statement of worldly importance. Gwendolyn closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Would she ever become accustomed to his outrageous behavior?
Chapter Three
Hank awoke groggy and disoriented, a gentle tapping sound penetrating his foggy brain. He wasn’t in his own room back at the ranch, but this big bed was sure comfortable. He stretched, his hands coming in contact with his hat. He’d been wearing it when he’d gone upstairs to the suite. At the Hyatt Regency in San Antonio.
The big suite reserved for Prince Alexi of Belegovia.
The tapping sound stopped. He blinked, focusing on the door. Sure enough, it opened just enough for Lady Wendy to poke her aristocratic nose around the corner. One slim hand held on to the darkly stained wood as if she were dangling for her life.
“Mr. McCauley, are you decent?”
“Darlin’, I’m about as decent as I get.”
She looked into the room, her eyes reflecting a cautious curiosity. He immediately noticed that she’d pulled her hair back into the severe style she favored.
He couldn’t wait to mess it up again.
Whoa! He shouldn’t be thinking along those lines. He’d kissed her once, but that needed to be the end of it. Lady Wendy Reed was just a little too sweet, a little too elegant for his white-bread taste. She’d be gone from his life faster than he could say lickety-split.
“I hope you had a pleasant rest, Mr. McCauley, because we need to begin your instruction.” He noticed she wasn’t looking at him much. He looked down, but sure enough, the buttons on his Levi’s were all done up, so that couldn’t be it. Either he’d offended her somehow, or she didn’t trust herself to watch him. Either way, it didn’t bode well for their working relationship.
She sure as hell wasn’t calling him “Hank,” as he’d asked. She was keeping it real professional with “Mr. McCauley.”
He might have overdone the good old boy routine just a bit. Maybe she didn’t want to get too familiar with a slightly broken-down bronc rider who had a smart mouth and a low threshold for boredom. With a sigh, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Sure. Let me just splash some water on my face and I’ll be right out.”
“Very good,” she said crisply, pulling the door closed behind her.
She couldn’t wait to give him a princely makeover, as if he were inadequate as he was. He didn’t like the thought; he didn’t appreciate the feeling deep in his gut that to someone like Lady Wendy, he was inadequate. If he didn’t watch out, he’d work himself into a really lousy mood. That just wouldn’t do, since he was in San Antone on someone else’s dime. Sure he wanted to learn some fancy manners and figure out what to wear to which event, but he also wanted to have some fun.
Life was too short to spend it all tied up in knots.
He stretched his unreliable back, pleased that his nap hadn’t frozen up his often-abused muscles. His old injuries came back to haunt him occasionally, usually at the most inconvenient times. Like when he was trying to impress a woman.
With a big yawn, he made his way into the marble-and-brass bathroom. Time was up; he was about to become Prince Alexi.
SIX HOURS, FIVE COURSES of food, one haircut and manicure, and three alterations of clothing later, Hank was even more tired of this Prince Alexi guy than he’d been this morning. Not only had the prince run off with Kerry Lynn, but he had about the most god-awful boring job in the universe. Smiling, shaking hands, eating, sitting and wearing expensive clothes was about all the prince was good for.
Of course, Hank now understood why Alexi ran off. Only six hours in the prince’s shoes—quite literally—and Hank was ready to run screaming from the fancy suite.
“Mr. McCauley, are you listening? The family tree of the royals in Belegovia is very important information.”
“I’m sure it is, Lady Wendy, but since I’m going to have laryngitis tomorrow, I can’t imagine I’d have to talk to anyone about these relatives of the prince.”
